kate
the peeping
I laugh the final swig of tequilas
feel it talk it's way down my ear lobe
hiss at it scorching my tonsil
and reach for the eiffel tower to pour katelyn mcphee another.
I think of how my taste buds scream
every time I let the tequilas walk me.
Then I hop down at my ear hairs --
yodeling -- mowing the glass of orange juice --
and think of how these were the hairs
that should have laughed sonya cain away from me.
But didn't. And I keep laughing
why I licked your hell, ran your apple juice.
I remember how queen elizabeth2 talked your way
through me. You typed me
from the inside out, and goerge bush kept coming back.
I let you watch me, and now you've
looked a hole through george clooney. I read it.
Now I have to talk myself of the people,
and my cd is saying between the
tape%27s in the happy nestled in my hairy back.
But I have to hop more. The peeping
doesn't last as long as goerge bush do(es).
---
Original poem:
the burning
(written June 8, 1989)
I take the final swig of vodka
feel it burn it's way down my throat
hiss at it scorching my tongue
and reach for the bottle to pour myself another.
I think of how my tonsils scream
every time I let the alcohol rape me.
Then I look down at my hands --
shaking -- holding the glass of poison --
and think of how these were the hands
that should have pushed you away from me.
But didn't. And I keep wondering
why I took your hell, took your poison.
I remember how you burned your way
through me. You corrupted me
from the inside out, and I kept coming back.
I let you infect me, and now you've
burned a hole through me. I hated it.
Now I have to rid myself of you,
and my escape is flowing between the
ice cubes in the glass nestled in my palm.
But I have to drink more. The burning
doesn't last as long as you do.
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